


Summer Comes, Winter Fades, Here We Are Just The Same

by KokoroJunnayai



Series: Please Don't Say You Love Me [1]
Category: Charmed
Genre: Bars, Chris and Bianca are friends first, College, Everyday Life, F/M, Stuff happens, Wyatt cameos, changed future, day in the life fic, for a witch-lighter, other Halliwells just mentioned, surprisingly normal setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-31 23:30:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3997270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KokoroJunnayai/pseuds/KokoroJunnayai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris and Bianca walk into a bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Comes, Winter Fades, Here We Are Just The Same

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is set in the changed future, based on the prompt 'Chris and Bianca walk into a bar'. Just a drabble that got of out hand. 
> 
> ChrisxBianca

_"Summer comes, winter fades_  
_Here we are just the same_  
_Don't need pressure, don't need change_  
_Let's not give the game away"_

   - "Please Don't Say You Love Me" by Gabrielle Aplin

 

 

 

Chris doesn't like to hang out in bars.

 

That's not to say he doesn't enjoy drinking, as he's twenty-two and in college and drinking is pretty much his only stress reliever right now, but he doesn't like to do it in a smoky, noisy bar. Sleazy men hit on women with dresses too short, and all the other drunk people laugh too loud, and most patrons are more obnoxious than not; it's easy to see that in the bartenders' weary eyes.

His mother always says that he's never gonna meet the woman he's gonna marry in a bar, and Chris has to agree, albeit never to her face. Nothing good except alcohol happens here, and even including that, nothing lasting.

 

But somehow, tonight, Chris finds himself in a bar, too lazy and maybe a bit too prideful to go to the store and buy beer just so he can drink it alone at his dorm.

Luckily, the masses of college students haven't shown up yet. It's just Chris and three other people, and the relative silence is _heaven_ to his ears.

 

He's exhausted, just got off a double shift at work. His feet are still throbbing from being stood on all day, and his knees are just remembering how to bend around the bar stool. All he wants to do is sip his drink, _not_ think about three presentations due tomorrow, and maybe text his girlfriend. You know, all without being bothered by anything or anyone.

 

He's succeeding, too. At least, he is until he realizes a girl has sat down two bar stools over.

 

She looks almost as tired as he feels, barely concealed circles beneath her eyes and a slump to her shoulders.

 

Unexpectedly, he feels a rush of empathy for the girl. She sips at her drink and almost smiles with a sigh, like this is the first chance she's had to breathe all day, and he wants to smile back and say, _I know_ exactly _how you feel_.

But he doesn't, because he values his 'alone drinking time' as much as she does, probably, and he doesn't want her to think he's trying to hit on her, or anything. He has a girlfriend, after all. So the single time they make eye contact that night, he offers a sympathetic smile, and then turns back to his phone.

 

After that, he doesn't think about her for the rest of the night.

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

Midterms come around, and Chris doesn't have time to do anything but study and occasionally eat. Actually, he flip-flops between fitting in eating and fitting in sleeping, because he knows they're both important but he can only do one at the moment and still get good grades in his classes.

 

So it's three weeks later before he finds himself in a bar again. It's the same bar, the one closest to his college campus, and he purposefully waited a few days after midterms so that there would be less college kids filling the bar.

 

His wait pays off – while there are more than usual, the bar isn't packed to the ceiling with screaming, partying twenty-somethings, all of their brains fried from studying.

 

There's exactly one free bar stool, but there's a couple tables near the back with no one around them, so Chris orders his drink and settles down at the farthest table.

 

While he waits, he wonders what his family are up to. He wonders if he told them about the demon he'd vanquished a week ago, wonders if he even remembered to call them in three weeks. He winces, thinking, probably not.

 

A flash of color catches his eye and he looks up.

 

Three tables in front of him is the girl again. She'd flipped her long, shimmering mass of hair over her shoulder, out of her face – that had been what had caught his eye.

She has a laptop and a notebook spread out in front of her, and Chris almost recoils, still utterly sick of anything homework-like.

 

He wants to go over there and ask if her midterms aren't over yet, or if they are, why she's still working, is she a crazy person, etc., but doesn't.

She has a deep frown on her face and keeps breaking her mechanical pencil. As his mother always says, you don't bother a woman that angry.

 

Soon his fries and his beer arrive, and Wyatt texts him, _are you still alive?,_ and Chris loses himself in his own world again.

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

Wyatt is in town for the weekend.

 

He actually _drove_ here like a normal person, which Chris laughed at because Wyatt hates driving, and he insisted on bringing luggage even though he can orb to his apartment to get whatever _instantly_.

 

The visit is surprisingly awesome, and Chris remembers why he doesn't hate his brother like most siblings do.

 

Chris re-introduces his brother to his college friends, and everyone hits it off just like they always do, 'cause it's impossible to stay friends with Chris if you don't like his family. Also, who doesn't like _Wyatt_?

 

They all go out on the town, see all the sights (there like one – one sight), and turn into those obnoxious, laughing drunk people that Chris has always hated. It's a lot more fun than it looks, he decides as he and his friends stumble on the sidewalk back to the dorms.

 

They didn't go to Chris's bar – he likes that name better than the real one – but a different, apparently more 'popular' one, which pretty much cements Chris's distaste of bars in general. But when he crashes into bed at four in the morning, Wyatt already snoring on the floor, Chris realizes he had a good time anyway.

 

He smiles as he loses unconsciousness.

 

He doesn't hear the _ping_ of his phone lighting up, showing a message that says,

_we need to talk, chris_

_._

 

_._

 

_._

 

_._

Three weeks later, Chris finds more and more reasons to get out of his dorm and wander around town.

Sometimes he winds up in his bar, sometimes he finds himself angry-shopping for new leather jackets (yes, he angry-shops, what of it?).

 

As long as he's out, he can pretend not to hear his phone ring. Chris doesn't think he's got an avoidance problem, because he really would pick up the phone if she wanted to _talk_ to him, like a rational adult.

But she doesn't – she wants to fight.

 

Chris is tired of yelling into his phone, tired of getting pitying looks from his roommate, tired of feeling like the jerk in the relationship when they are _both_ at fault here.

 

Tonight, he goes into his bar because tonight it's loud and busy and it will silence the angry voices still echoing in his head.

 

It's this night that he finally sits next to The Girl. Her hair is scooped into a sloppy pony-tail tonight, reading glasses forgotten on her head, and she's intensely glaring at her phone.

Chris takes that to mean, 'don't talk to me', and complies, choosing to drink in silence. Suits him find tonight, anyway – he's probably only good for yelling these days.

 

Five minutes in, she jumps a little, turns to him, and smiles, sharp teeth gleaming in the light.

"Sorry, didn't see you there." She says, and her voice is different that how he imagined. It's low, strong, loud enough to be heard over the noise and the music.

 

"It's cool." He shrugs, tilting back his beer.

 

His ears go red when she squints at him, even as one of his hands creep towards his pocket for the vanquishing potion he always keeps there.

 _Please don't say 'Halliwell',_ he thinks over and over, unwilling to deal with a demon when he's already so tired.

 

"I've seen you here before." She tells him finally, and his hand freezes, drops away.

 

A real smile comes across his face, almost strains his muscles from the unfamiliarity of it.

 

"Yeah, I've seen you too. Guess we've never had the change to say hello."

 

Her dark, deep eyes assess him for a moment before lighting up.

 

"I'm Bianca."

 

"Chris." He offers, and that's how he learns her name.

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

He goes there every few weeks now.

 

He always says hi to Bianca when she's there, and she always says hello back.

 

It's nice.

 

Sometimes they don't say another word to each other, the whole night, they just sit in silence and relish it. Most times, though, they sit next to each other and make small talk.

 

Chris finds out that Bianca goes to the same college he does, learns she's already switched majors three times and still has no idea what to do with her life.

He laughs when she says this, ignoring the scowl that comes over face.

 

"Finally!" He exclaims. "Someone gets it! This being an adult crap is friggin' _hard_."

 

He explains that he wanted to be a vet when he was little, that he doesn't have the faintest clue what he wants to be now, and that his family is always pestering him about it.

 

"I mean, come _on_." He slurs one night, on the wrong side of one too many beers. " _No_ one knows exactly what they wanna be. Evr'one has doubts about whether what they're going for is teh right choice. Is' just, not evr'body admits it, you know?"

 

She nods back, blurry in his vision, and just _understands_. Bianca laughs at him when he gets up to leave and accidentally staggers into the wall on the way out.

 

Another week, Chris tells her of his relationship problems. She puts in her long line of crappy past boyfriends, and he probably talks her ear off about Allie.

 

"She's angry at me." He says. Maybe he's boring her, going on and on about someone like he is. It's just so _nice_ to talk about this with someone new, someone unbiased and above all _isn't related to him_. Who knows, maybe she has a fresh perspective on it?

 

"Why?" Bianca asks. Her serious face holds no polite interest, only real curiosity glinting in her sharp features.

 

Shrugging, he toys with a drink coaster.

 

"She doesn't like who I turned out to be."

 

A teasing smile tugs at Bianca's red lips, telling Chris she's not about to be serious.

 

"And who did you turn out to be?" And he knows by her tone that she's not pushing him to tell her – certainly, as only fellow bar acquaintances, it might be a little rude if she were.

 

Still, Chris wants to give her an answer.

 _I'm actually a witch-lighter and sometimes I fight demons._ Yeah, like that'd go over well. It certainly didn't last time. 

 

The truth of it itches on his tongue nonetheless, but he bites in down. He doesn't want her to think he's crazy. 

But, he swallows back a sigh...he is so _sick_ of lying.

 

"I guess it's more of who I'm not." He says instead, truth enough that it doesn't hurt. "I'm not an average, determined college student looking to settle down. I'm not good at communication or being totally honest with her. And Allie? She doesn't know what to do with that. She wants to make this work –" At least that's what she keeps yelling at him, tears in her voice. "– but I think she knows, now, that this isn't gonna work. I'm not what she wants."

 

"But she won't break it off?" Bianca questions, eyes so quiet and deep that they calm Chris now, even as he's discussing his girlfriend, the one subject guaranteed to make him upset. Plus, she hasn't run off screaming for him to _shut up about Allie already_ , like his family did. Chris has to give her credit for that.

 

"No. She won't. We've been friends for a long time, but we've dated for longer, now." He pauses, sipping his drink and musing. "I think...I think we could make it work as friends. We really do care about each other. Neither of us want to lose each other, we just don't remember how to be friends."

 

"So what?" Bianca lifts a shoulder at him, a fire lighting in her eyes and a scoff on her tongue. "You're just gonna stay in a strained relationship? You're just gonna keep yelling at each other all the time? Oh yeah, sounds like a great plan."

 

Embarrassment creeps in, Chris wondering if he has really been arguing that much and in front of all sorts of people.

 

He opens his mouth to retort.

 

Nothing comes to his mind, however.

 

The pair don't speak to each other again until a month later.

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

Three weeks pass quickly.

 

Next time he goes there, Chris walks into his bar like it really is his; confident, with a swagger and a huge grin on his face. He clutches a laptop, which he promptly sets on the bar counter in front of Bianca. He plops down next to her and grins even wider.

 

"Hey, B." He waves, giving her a wink. The girl twitches as he knows she would - she hates being nicknamed - but he pays her no mind and gestures to the in-use web-cam.

"This is Allie, B. My _friend_." Chris puts too much emphasis on 'friend', but somehow in a good way, like in his eyes that's the best thing one can be.

 

Bianca squints at the screen, for some reason unwilling to bring her glasses down from her head to see better, and makes out a smiling face.

 

"Hi, I'm Allie." The slightly pixelated face on the desktop smiles broadly and waves a little.

"Um...Chris told me all about you. I just wanted to meet you in person, I hope that's not like, creepy or anything."

 

A soft expression creeps around Bianca's sharp edges, and her mouth tugs up on one side.

 

"Nah. I pretty much know everything about you already, so," She offers a shrug. "It's only fair."

 

"Cool. I just wanted to say thanks, for, uh, helping me and Chris with our problems. It was...I..I guess we just needed a different perspective, is all."

 

"Anytime." Bianca promises.

 

"Listen, I gonna go, I –"

 

Chris rolls his eyes and flips the computer around.

"Seriously, Allie, we _just_ got here. _Literally_ , in the truest definition of the word."

 

"– yeah, I _know,_ Chris, but traffic took forever and I have to study for this test tomorrow."

  
"Whatever, loser." He teases.

 

"Shut up, jerk! Just, turn me around again!"

 

Chris sticks his tongue out at her.

 

"Christopher..." Allie warns, voice tinny, and Chris makes this big show of sighing and spinning her all the way around before Bianca's staring at the web-cam again.

"So just wanted to say I'll probably drive up to see Chris soon, and was hoping we could like, hang out. 'Cause anybody who can stand Chris is probably a pretty cool person."

 

"I'd like that." And Bianca doesn't look like she's lying. "That sounds great, Allie. It was nice to meet you."

 

"Yeah! Love your hair by the way. So uh, catch you losers later!"

 

And that's how Chris introduces his ex-girlfriend to the woman he sits with in the bar.

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

Finals are weeks away and there are less reasons than ever to visit his bar.

 

Wyatt texts him a hundred times a day, all about his girlfriend. His brother is a ball of nerves waiting to explode, and Chris really hopes that when he eventually does he puts the ring in a safe place first.

 

Chris tries to be helpful at first. It's hard to say anything, though, his brother's frantic texts filling the screen way, way too fast.

 

_How should I do it?_

_Should I ask her tonight?!_

_We're going on a date. Fancy restaurant._

_Seems like a good place, right?_

_Right. Of course it does!!_

_I'm gonna ask her tonight._

_How should I ask her, though?!?!?!_

 

Then there are like, fifty million little emoji characters making the same 'freaking out' face on Chris's phone and all the Halliwell can think is, _Oh, God, Wy's gonna be a_ husband.

 

That's such a strange, sobering thought that he has to take a second to laugh a little hysterically. Then a huge smile breaks across his face, fondness for his brother filling his chest.

 

 _Just ask her, Wy._ Chris advises when there's a suitable pause. _Don't over-think it._

 

There's about a two-second hesitation before the floodgates open.

 

_HOW CAN I NOT OVERTHINK THIS_

_IM ASKING SOMEONE TO MARRY ME!!!_

_I DONT THINK YOU UNDERSTAND MY SITUATION CHRISTOPHER_

_WHAT IF SHE DOESNT SAY YES WHAT IF SHE LAUGHS IN MY FACE?!?!!??!_

 

If Wy were here in person, that's exactly what Chris would do, but luckily Wy's marrying someone a lot more sensitive than that.

 _Dez probably WILL laugh in your face._ Chris texts back, oh-so-delicate-brother-mode on. Yeah, he's the best sibling ever. No matter what Mel says.

 

_THAT ISNT HELPING CHRIS_

 

He swears, he can almost hear the sound of hyperventilating through the phone.

 

Chris rolls his eyes, sighs a long suffering sigh, then adds,

 

_Then she'll probably say yes and kiss you or whatever._

 

Like, duh. How long has the entire Halliwell family known Desiree?

 

Wyatt doesn't type anything back for a while, so Chris goes for broke.  


_This is Dez, Wy. I'm pretty sure you have actual reasons for wanting to marry her, like, I dunno, you both really LIKE each other or something. Just think about that, k?_

…

…

There's a long silence, in which Chris wonders if his brother had a heart attack or maybe got attacked by a demon or perhaps just freaked the hell out completely and threw himself out a window or something.

Chris shrugs to himself, leaves his phone on his desk, and returns to studying. Whatever it is, The Twice Blessed can handle it – Chris has finals to pass.

 

 

Five minutes later, a small _ping_ goes off. On Chris's phone there's one new text:

_k._

_._

 

_._

 

_._

 

_._

With a day to go until finals, Chris has been; attacked by demons in his dorm, cursed by evil witches (technically warlocks, male or female), kidnapped in _broad daylight_ and dragged to an evil demon's Underworld lair, and, after just escaping, been proclaimed 'dangerous and insane' by his roommate.

 

Yeah. He's just _loving_ his life right now.

 

Hobbling his way into his dorm room, he manages to collapse his stiff body into bed – just barely.

 

His wrists are still red and sore from being in shackles (probably have an infection or something), a cut on his cheek is bleeding down his face, and he feels bruised and battered all over. Also, his foot is most likely broken. Or twisted. Whichever one hurts more, that's probably what it is.

 

Chris has no energy to flip onto his back – it would hurt too much anyway, his back already bruised from sleeping in a cage for a few days – so he rests his cheek on his pillow closes his eyes where he is.

 

There are so many things he needs to do, he knows. Though he vanquished the boss demon that ordered his abduction, her minions are still out there and need to be taken care of.

 

Chris also needs to call his family, tell him where he's been. Tell them he's okay.

 

Well. Maybe not that last part. He really doesn't like having to lie to his family.

 

 

Oh, yeah, and he still needs to explain everything to Jake, his friend and roommate of two years.

 

Jake, a.k.a completely ordinary mortal who saw some very impossible things not too long ago.

 

Jake Morison, a.k.a his almost best friend who he tells almost everything to.

 

Whelp, that's another relationship down the drain, Chris thinks, feeling tears build.

 

With one phone call, Wyatt would orb over here and heal him and listen to his problems. With one text, even. Maybe with even one super loud shout.

That's all it would take to get his big brother to come in and save the day.

 

But Chris only lies there and closes his eyes tight against the tears. He can't find the energy to do anything else.

 

 

 

It's been a long year.

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

Big surprise; he fails his finals.

 

As it turns out, 'I'm still beat up and emotionally traumatized from being kidnapped by demons' is not an excuse that flies with his professors. Hell, they don't even listen to students with legitimate illnesses and doctors' notes and everything.

 

He fails his finals, but he scrapes by in most of his classes with barely passing grades. It's like a punch to the gut for the straight A student. The professors only make things worse, rub salt in his wound by saying stuff like, 'I'm very disappointed in you, Chris', and 'I know you could've done better', and 'Where's the great student I've had all year, Chris'.

 

But there's nothing he can say to make them understand. So he shrugs, offers an apologetic, trembling smile, and doesn't meet anyone's eyes.

 

Jake moves out.

 

His friend doesn't look at him once while he packs up everything, only mumbles excuses and flinches fearfully when Chris draws near.

 

His dorm mate of two years leaves in a rush, is gone in the span of two days, and Chris doesn't know what to do.

The left side of the dorm-room is horribly empty – there's only a mattress left on the floor, and one red sock that Jake forgot about.

 

No one wakes Chris up in the morning with infuriating, hard core heavy metal. No one drinks all of Chris's milk, no one eats the last slice of pizza.

 

Chris feels the emptiness most at night, when he rolls over to tell Jake something personal or philosophical.

He ends up staring at a blank wall, mouth already open, feeling like someone like telekinesis is squeezing his insides.

 

 

It's always impossible to go back to sleep after that.

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

He's going to leave town and go back home.

 

All of his friends here are also Jake's friends, and though most of them are on 'his side', there's always this curiosity in their eyes.

They want to know what ruined the friendship.

 

Chris is just tired of being reminded of it at all.

 

So he does stuff alone. He doesn't talk to many people, tells even fewer than he won't be here in a few weeks.

 

He hangs out at his bar again. He finds that he missed it.

Well, he missed _her_.

 

"Hi, Bianca."

 

She smiles up at him, white, razor teeth flashing in the dim light.

"Chris. You look awful."

 

He realizes he's smiling back at her and takes the bar stool next to her. Something settles in his soul, something like a balm being soothed over his emotionally battered heart.

 

" 'Awful's about how I feel." He says.

 

Maybe he's using his 'puppy dog' eyes or something, because she has 'the look' on.

 

Bianca lifts a perfectly tweezer'd eyebrow.

"What, you want a hug or something? 'Cause I'm not the hugging type."

 

A laugh breaks free from his chest, and a small part of his troubles lift.

 

"Nah, it's cool. I wouldn't mind an affectionate handshake though." He teases.

 

She takes him up on it though, squeezes his hand till he thinks it will shatter.

 

He glares back at her when he finally reclaims it, declares her the worst friend ever. Chris orders the most expensive drink there are declares she pay for it.

 

Laughing, her deadly manicured hands wrapped round her middle, she eventually concedes.

 

 _And she says she isn't kind_ , Chris thinks with a warmth blooming in his chest.

 

He waits until three drinks later to tell her so.

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

 

Two months later, he tells her he's a witch. He whispers it in her ear in between kisses, hot and sweet, down her neck.

 

 

She whispers back, completely out of breath,

"So am I."

 

 

They don't stop kissing.

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

Chris invites Bianca to the wedding.

 

She sits out in the crowd of Wyatt and Desiree's loved ones, waves a little at her boyfriend when Chris hands Wy the rings.

 

They laugh when Wy fumbles his lines, snorts hidden behind their hands and shoulders just brushing.

 

Bianca says nothing when Wy cries a little, listening to Dez's beautifully prepared vows.

 

Bianca laces her hand in Chris's when Chris, despite his earlier protests, lets out a small sniffle.

 

 

When the new wife and husband kiss, Chris and Bianca cheer loudest of all.

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

It's not a love story, what they have.

 

There's no great, magnificent romance, no famous tragedy, no great drama. Neither raced for their love or fought against all odds to be together.

 

They aren't Romeo and Juliet, destined to cross boundaries, willing to die to be with one another.

 

They're just Chris and Bianca.  


 

They'd make a frankly terrible love story.

But that's not what they have.

 

 

It's just...life.

 

And they're going through it together, one day at a time.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I don't know how this drabble got so long. HOW DID I GET THIS FROM THAT PROMPT?!!! HOW DID THIS HAPPEN!!
> 
> I have no idea. 
> 
> Oh well! Hope you who made it this far liked it! Hope everyone wasn't too far out of character. It kinda got progressively weirder and weirder...whoops. 
> 
> Got the title and sort of the theme from Gabrielle Aplin's "Please Don't Say You Love Me", which actually fits unchanged!Future Chris and Bianca better, but whatever.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please comment!!


End file.
